


The Space Between

by toomuchplor



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Coming Out, Epistolary, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-25
Updated: 2006-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Consider this letter my attempt to metaphorically moisten the popcorn before it farts.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime between "McKay and Mrs. Miller" and "The Return, Part 1". Thanks to sparktastic, who saved this fic from being called 'Read Between the Lines', but then ruined everything by suggesting the title 'Letters from the Ark', which just, no. No thanks after all. So thanks to Dave Matthews for writing a song whose title says the right thing, but without all the inevitable cattle references I would otherwise have resorted to.

_Dear Jeannie,_

 _If, as you so charmingly say, my last letter to you was “dry as a popcorn fart” (and oh my god, I still can’t believe you married a vegetarian English major, let alone a Newfie vegetarian English major -- he’s clearly having all sorts of detrimental effects on your speech patterns) then consider this letter my attempt to metaphorically moisten the popcorn before it farts. You want to know “what’s really happening on Atlantis”? Far be it from me to frustrate such masochistic impulses._

 _Last week, we had a good trade mission. Of course, by ‘good’, I usually mean that no one was captured, injured, shot, or infected by mind-altering fungus, but this time, it genuinely seemed like we’d made a satisfactory deal for ourselves…_

Teyla told Sheppard that they were taking cattle (or the Pegasus version thereof, which looked strangely identical to Earth cattle) back to Atlantis. She said it with a broad smile, clearly happy that the trade mission had been a success for once.

Sheppard, who was always strangely disgruntled when he didn’t get to fire one of his guns offworld, crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Not in the jumper, we’re not.”

“This is fantastic,” said Rodney, beaming. “Steak! And cheese! We can have fajitas!”

“We don’t have the cargo space for cows,” Sheppard announced, loudly, and abruptly appeared disconcerted that this particular sentence had come out of his mouth.

“Of course we do, don’t be ridiculous,” Rodney snapped. “We’ll just take them two at a time.”

“This is a sophisticated piece of Ancient battle technology, not an ark!” Sheppard said, getting riled now.

“It’s kind of shaped like it’s meant to carry livestock,” Ronon submitted, patting the jumper’s hull.

 _…which was a big mistake on Ronon’s part. In fact, I’d bet if anyone other than Ronon had said it, Sheppard would have hauled back and punched them. Because (and you didn’t spend enough non-Rodney-belittling time with the Colonel to see this firsthand) Sheppard is worryingly proud of the jumpers. It’s sort of like the Queen and her corgies. Nobody fucks with the jumpers unless they want to fuck with Sheppard too. One of the new marines off the Daedalus after the siege made the mistake of calling them ‘rigatoni racers’ in Sheppard’s hearing and he got shipped back the next day. To a posting in Alaska._

 _Anyway, like I said, it was a lucky thing that Ronon was the one who said it (even though it’s so true, sweet lord, have you seen those things? They’re basically high-tech horse trailers.) because Sheppard’s the tiniest bit scared of Ronon. It’s one of the most reasonable aspects of his personality._

“No cows,” Sheppard said with great finality, standing on the jumper platform with his arms crossed.

Teyla put one hand on her hip and tilted her head slightly, staring Sheppard down.

Rodney sighed and took out his laptop, perching on a nearby fencepost and opening up Minesweeper.

 _Teyla -- Sheppard’s not exactly scared of her. But she has this way of looking at him that clearly reminds him of how she can have him flat on his back with her boot on his chest in less time than it would take him to work up a good pout. Not that he doesn’t try, of course -- just that once Teyla’s made up her mind, she’s always going to win the argument. Fact, fact, total scientific fact._

Sheppard looked pained as the first animal was herded in. When the second was nestled up beside it, the first cow took a moment to christen the puddle jumper’s deck. Sheppard immediately shot the bulkhead doors closed so he could have a moment to himself alone in the cockpit.

 _God, I hate it when Sheppard pouts. Sometimes it’s all I can do to keep myself from slamming his head into the flight controls. Even the jumper emits this moody hum. It’s like flying inside a giant fourteen-year-old while listening to emo rock._

“Turns out they’re not quite set up for cattle on the mainland,” said Dr. Weir over the comm link during their first cattle-ferrying flight back to Atlantis. “They only have the pasture half-finished. Teyla, we’re sending a work detail over in a couple of jumpers to help with the job. In the meantime, can two of you stay on the mainland and help the older children herd the cattle until the pasture’s complete?”

“I will,” Ronon offered. For a Satedan city boy, he was obviously getting a thrill out of being a cowboy.

“I will as well,” Teyla added hastily, glancing sideways at Sheppard’s gloomy face.

“Perfect,” sighed Rodney grumpily, letting his head thump back against the curve of the hull.

“Halling tells me it should only be a matter of hours. Colonel, you and Dr. McKay can continue to ferry the herd through the gate.”

“Copy that,” said Sheppard, stabbing at his radio. No one had seen him this cranky since he’d had an iratus bug nuzzling his jugular.

 _Twenty-eight years of education, two PhDs, one intergalactic mission of exploration, and I’m stuck playing Noah’s wife in the Pegasus galaxy rendition of Bible Stories for Children._

It was a small herd -- only twenty head of cattle and one ornery bull who had to be sedated with Carson’s biggest scariest hypodermic needle before anyone dared to lead him into the now-filthy cargo area of the jumper -- but it still was the better part of a day before Rodney and Sheppard unloaded the last of the cattle out onto the newly-cleared Lantean pasture. They disembarked, Sheppard having reached the point of feigned nonchalance when it came to the state of his boots, Rodney still making some vague attempt to step over and around the manure that littered the deck.

The atmosphere was positively festive outside. The Athosians, giddy with excitement at their new asset, mingled with the volunteer Atlantis work detail, most of whom shared Ronon’s taste for farm work. Good progress had been made on the pasture fence and now they were rigging up the gate while Ronon and a gaggle of Athosian youth kept the cattle moving in slow circles on the far end of the field. Someone from Atlantis had even given Ronon a cowboy hat.

“I’m going to go and sleep in a haystack,” announced Rodney. “Come and find me when we’re --” he waved his index finger in a circle, pointing down, “done here.”

For a moment, Sheppard looked like he would follow Rodney’s lead, and then Halling jogged over and dragged him into the thick of things. They needed someone to hold one of the pieces of the gate while two others lashed it into place with heavy rope. His mood gradually lightened as he got involved in the work, until a surprise release of tension on the rope had him sprawling back on his ass in the dirt. After that, Sheppard was all smiles.

 _…real cream in my coffee, and buttered rolls tonight as part of one of Weir’s morale-boosting campaigns (she’s had a lot more of those since you took out our only ZPM), and even though Halling’s being kind of stingy and won’t slaughter any animals until they’ve had a year to breed the herd, we’re going to have steak and hamburgers eventually too._

The sun had set and the party was still going in the Athosian settlement when Sheppard went off in search of Rodney, who was (as promised) curled up in a pile of hay.

“Home?” Sheppard asked, after booting Rodney awake with a gentle kick to the side.

“Home,” agreed Rodney, and staggered to his feet.

 _Well, you wanted it: life on Atlantis, in all its fascinating glory. I’m sorry to say that this truly was the most interesting thing to happen in the past two weeks -- except I’m not really sorry, because I’ll take cow-wrangling over the Wraith any day._

 _Things have been pretty busy on the science side -- trying to wean the city back off of ZPM power hasn’t been pretty and we’re all getting used to lukewarm showers and rationed lab time again._

 _See you at Christmas._

 _Rodney_

 _Dear Meredith,_

 _You’re still holding out on me, you rat bastard. I’ll let it go -- but only because I’ll have you back in Canada within the next month and I plan to grill the hell out of you until I get the whole story._

 _Anyway, I have my theories._

 _Madison terrified the hell out her preschool helper yesterday. The kids were making caterpillars out of egg cartons (honest to god, they_ still do that, _you’d think that we as a species would have come up with new ideas for toddlers’ crafts in the past century) and Madison decided that she would…_

 _Dear Jeannie,_

 _I don’t know what you think I could possibly have left out of that meticulous and fucking brilliantly interesting report on How Atlantis Got Her Moo Back, but I’m generously going to put your response down to extremely delayed post-partum psychosis and instead tell you all about our last offworld mission, which ended up with each team member having three socks on their person upon our return to Atlantis -- even Ronon, who, yeah,_ doesn’t even wear socks _, how’s that for terrifying?…_

They kept the bulkhead doors closed for the quiet return flight, because the jumper’s cargo hold still reeked and that was a job for the next stupid marine who called Sheppard’s baby a Winnebago. Teyla and Ronon were staying behind to enjoy the end of the celebration and would return later with another group of the Atlantis crew.

“I’m going to write this whole thing up in excruciating detail and send it home to Jeannie,” Rodney told Sheppard, settling back in the co-pilot seat with a sigh. “She doesn’t believe me that our lives don’t always consist of dering-do and feats of brilliance.” He snorted quietly. “Home on the range.”

Sheppard pulled up the auto-pilot on the HUD and kicked back in his chair, hands behind his head. “You tell her everything?” he asked, very casually.

Rodney was yawning too widely to answer.

“Rodney?” prompted Sheppard, less casually.

“Not everything,” conceded Rodney, spreading his legs and swiveling his seat until his knee bumped into Sheppard’s, once, twice, three times. They both stared down at their dirty uniform pants for a minute, at the place where their limbs brushed together. Finally, Sheppard extended his hand across and squeezed Rodney’s kneecap. Rodney’s mouth curled into an involuntary smile.

Sheppard made a vague humming sound before sliding his hand up the inside of Rodney’s leg, just a little ways.

Rodney leaned closer, bumping noses with Sheppard. “But I think she can read between the lines, you know?”

Their lips touched with the lazy confidence of long-held habit as the jumper sailed towards home.

 

 _…and Caleb insisted that the fucking wallpaper border had to come down and that we needed to put up a new one after all. I told him the first words out of this new baby’s mouth had better be, ‘Nice goddamn wallpaper border, Mom!’ but I’m not holding my breath for Caleb to change his mind._

 _You know how it is, right?_

 _Love,_

 _Jeannie_

 _p.s. Which reminds me -- we’re setting the table for five at Christmas, so tell the Colonel he can bring a nice Californian pinot gris to go with the tofurkey._


End file.
